A Different Mental Space

I am in day three of being in this place I can’t quite describe. Not depressed, not happy. Just…different. Perhaps it’s because I finally started writing again. It’s not pouring out passionately but I am forcing it out in spurts. Depending on font type and size, I either have 22 pages or 34 pages. I started on one computer, moved to the laptop, and now my page count is wily nily since the fonts are different. Whatever. 22 or 34 pages, it means I’ve been writing. It’s just not going anywhere without the passion I normally have. I guess it’s like riding a stationary bike. You get nowhere  but at least you’re doing something. And I think doing something, even if only for a couple of peaceful hours at night once my kid is down, is helping.

The sleep thing is wily nily still, even more so perhaps, now that I am staying up til 1 a.m. writing. Which means come morning, after her waking me at 1 am wanting to chat for an hour, I’m lingering in bed listlessly. I miss the days when I didn’t need sleep. I miss that part of manic episodes the most. I need me time yet I also have to be mom and finding the balance between time and energy without the mania…suckage. I don’t know how my kid does it, waking up two, three times a night, still bounding out at 7 a.m. full of energy. Meanwhile, I am lolling in bed til 9 am, ten a.m., and it makes me feel slothful even though technically, I’m not sleeping more than I was. I’m just sleeping at different times. And I’m not gonna waste a whole lot of time feeling shitty about it because school will start again soon and I will, regardless of exhaustion, drag my ass out of bed to keep her schedule. Mostly because I really don’t want to go to jail for truancy. For now…I’m just gonna go with it. Not like I’ve slept “normally” for the last two years, anyway.

On the plus side, I did fall asleep with Absinthe purring on my pillow next to my ear. I don’t know what it is that is so comforting about a purring cat. I think that was one of the happiest moments when the donor walked out. I could finally sleep with my cats again and not worry about his bitching and moaning about them climbing on him and making biscuits or sleeping on his head. The fact he wasn’t a pet person should have been the red flag from the get go. Cats are my therapy, my heroin. It’s nice to have to watch where I roll over at night because six cats are hogging bed space. And the cats kick less and don’t snore like my darling daughter.

The one thing that remains absolutely the same is my sensitivity to noise. My kid literally is glued to me all day, every day. I can’t write-she interrogates every word. I can’t read email and she wants to know who I am “talking to”. I can’t watch shows because she questions every single thing. “Why is that guy on fire?” “He lit a cigarette while doused in gasoline.” “Why is he on fire?” Lather, rinse, repeat. Ten hours of that with her sitting at my elbow would annoy anyone. For me, the constant noise is like nails on a chalkboard. I don’t think a Xanax increase is gonna change that. No, what helps is bad for me. Everything that helps, cigarettes and alcohol, are bad for me. If their magic meds worked so well, I wouldn’t need the other. I just…it’s not necessarily specific to my kid. I just get irked by chatty people.I even get irked by people who are quiet but just present. In my space. Making it hard for me to breathe, to relax, to not feel self conscious because I feel like my every facial expression is being scrutinized. (Thanks for that scar, donor.)

Fortunately, it was a quiet weekend. Dad and clan visited yesterday for about twenty minutes but they brought food for my cats so I can take that bullet. (I’m shallow but there’s gotta be a benefit to all his criticisms.) Had a ninety minute stand off with my spawn yesterday. I fixed her mac and cheese for supper per her request. She had a fit because it was the green box, not the blue box. Then she wanted extra cheese so I added some and she didn’t like that. I am so fed up with her wasting food and changing her mind from Monday to Tuesday. It may be a kid thing, but I don’t have the money to waste on her whims. So I made her sit that whole time and told her she would not be getting anything else to eat. I dug my heels in. And I won. It took all that time but she ate it. And for being such a jerk to me and calling me stupid, she got no dessert, no snacks aside from grapes. Turns out, I’m a pretty badass disciplinarian when my meds aren’t making me more mental than I already am.

The difference since quitting Trileptal has been amazing. There’s always the question if it’s just placebo effect because I didn’t like how it made me feel but with my history of med sensitivity and adverse effects…I don’t think so. I think it was just a bad med for me. Most of them are. Not my fault my body chemistry is rebellious and contrary. It’s almost like without that haze, the Cymbalta seems to be perking me up a bit. Least from an energy standpoint. I tackled ALL the laundry and got it folded, which for weeks, was an impossibility. I haven’t dusted or anything and I am sure that’s considered filthy by most but ya know what? Fuck it. Baby steps.

Need to mow the lawn. All the rain made it grow like a fungus in a dark wet place. Landlord will be on my ass before long. Which is ironic because my neighbor hasn’t mowed her lawn for two months and the other side of the trailer park has toys and trash in the road and no one over there mows or even picks up. I think I get singled out because of all the stray cats. As I’ve told them, if there are hungry cats and I have food, I am gonna feed them, sue me, it’s who I am. If it’s such a problem, get animal control to haul them off. I can’t do it.

While I am feeling less dooms day-y (yes, it’s a word), I am still not in a place where I want to go out or be around people. It’s just too stressful right now. I can’t be worried about being offensive or being mistaken for rude. I have to focus on my own progress. Which will be hindered if I spend too much time in the dish and around non supportive people. It’s not avoidance. It’s just knowing what is best for me.

I think that’s about it. I am gonna leave on this note. This is not a song or band I’d ever have been left to my own devices. But it was played during the final scene of the series finale of The Following as Hardy walked away…And it just fit the scene’s mood and since then…It’s infected me. Little obnoxious at times, but…I like it.

 

 

 

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4 Responses to “A Different Mental Space”

  1. It’s oddly satisfying, staring down a tantrum and winning victories over the disruly nature of children, shouldn’t be by some socially acceptable code but damn it, I looked into eyes a flare with a glare ten fold the fireballs aimed at me and won today but as much as I enjoyed it, reminded me how I can do it
    It’s not some pure gift that I have, or purely down to years of my mum facing off against me with NHS cold hearted ruthlessness that I’ve learnt from but the fact that anything a child can throw at me… I’ve got years older wrath and vengeance that had been refined into something far deadlier and fanatical staring back from cold hearted eyes
    Scares me to think how much of my drive and ability to function and move forward is based on something so destructive and poison, but I guess we all need to get our strength from somewhere, so for a negativity rooted anti-social bar steward like myself, why not from all that makes me want to scream with bloody fiery fury that is only held at bay by depression

    Positivity is overrated anyway!

    • You are so British, it’s adorable. Thank God I had a Brit best friend for 12 years or otherwise I’d have no clue what you are saying.
      Ya know, I think the adversity thing does make us tougher. Had I not been bullied so relentlessly in school, bipolar would have kicked my ass by now. And I’d probably be some sunshine spewing vomit inducing shiny happy person deserving of anthrax poisoning on principle.
      All hail dysfunction!

      • So subtle put!!
        And I may be British but that darn rig just ain’t so pretty cool when the gangster vibe Tommy guns a few cusses and curses in American rhythms
        Vocabulary is fun, something they should teach children more!

      • I think I understand the Brit terms better than whatever that gobbledygook. And it wasn’t an insult. British accents are cool. Only accent where you can say “fuck off” and it still sounds utterly polite. Looove that.

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